


Ghosts

by ludgerkresnik



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Depression, Hauntings, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ludgerkresnik/pseuds/ludgerkresnik
Summary: Heracles lives in his own mind, and clings to his childhood, where he had the world at his fingertips and the stars just out of reach.





	Ghosts

Heracles lives in his mind, clinging to a time where everything made sense and he didn’t always feel so exhausted. In his youth, he had felt as though he had the world at his fingertips and just one little reach away from the stars and the gods, who had gazed upon him and his mother so favorably. Those were the days where he had felt a perpetual warmth, something so neverending, he wonders if he can feel it again one day.

 

In his mind, he can still picture his mother so vividly and hear her voice so clearly, it’s as though time never took her from him and erased her from his mind. These are the days he holds onto, the ones where he doesn’t have to reach so far in his mind to recall  _ something _ about her that wasn’t marred by blood and the Ottoman’s bloodthirsty conquests for power.

 

And sometimes, he thinks he sees her in his little apartment. Her presence, even as a ghost, still commands power and respect. She had always received it from even the toughest of soldiers, her voice could make one quake with fear. His mother, who was always so soft and kind with him, had held such a ferociousness tha Heracles can never emulate. But even now, her power, her strength still lingers on in the minds of his people, and in the lands that remain untouched. The ruins where buildings had once stood so grand, so new and had the gods blessings upon them.

 

Her voice calls out to him sometimes, a soft chime and he  _ thinks  _ he can still feel her arms wrapped around him. On the worst of nights of terrors and insomnia does this bring comfort to him. Yet, even those are ruined when the  _ other _ thoughts make their way into his mind. The way she had come home wounded, her earthly green eyes that had once shown light had then showed something akin to defeat. Yet, she was still so  _ beautiful _ , she was more powerful than the gods. In his young mind, Heracles had convinced himself that she would never go away. And then she did. And he doesn’t know who to be angry at.

 

When she died, when her legacy went with her and the world changed for him, time went with. And it still continues to be gone. And he doesn’t know how to get it back. When Heracles tries to explain this to people, how he feels so stagnate, how time just isn’t working, they never quite understand.

 

“That’s normal for a Nation. We’re not really mortal,” They’d say, and they’d move on. And he’s still left with the feelings of frustration that he’s so out of place.  _ He feels so old. _

 

And he continues to see his mother, in different parts of his small home. She is always so ethereal, so grand and he always tries to call out to her, feeling that familiar childish excitement he would when she would return home from long trips. Yet, he never could because his mouth always feels stuck and she would disappear.

 

Someone he knows had mentioned that maybe  _ he’s _ haunted and Heracles would shrug it off. Ghosts aren’t real, he’d say. Much like the gods he had so much faith in.

 

Yet, she’d be there between wine and cigarette smoke and bleary, tired eyes. And he would always, continuously try to call out for her to tell her that he misses her. And it would be the same thing, over and over again.

 

Yes, it seems his home is haunted.


End file.
